


Alone

by Teej



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 07:01:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6364129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teej/pseuds/Teej
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin finds himself stranded and alone, surrounded by mystery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 2015 Writer's Challenge Week Six: Sensory Perception: In which all senses are used.

****

## 

Alone

****

 

Salty, muted at best, with a trace, a tang, of iron, and earthy; not unlike fresh mushrooms. That taste registered in his brain as he surfaced from the dark depths of wherever it was Merlin had been. Other things began clamouring for attention, like the cold dampness seeping into his clothes or the soft kiss of moisture on his exposed cheek. Not to mentioning the dull aching thud of pain in his head.

The squeak he heard came from himself as he tentatively reached up to touch the place where the ache originated and he stopped, struggling to open his eyes, when his fingers touched something firm and crusty on his scalp.

Blood.

Dried blood. In his hair, the taste in his mouth, of course. Merlin blinked his eyes, trying to focus, as he spat. Pushing himself upright, he ran the back of his hand across his lips, wincing at a stab of pain, and glanced down at his hand, seeing a faint smear of diluted blood amongst the speckles of dirt from his face.

He squelched a rising tide of panic and forced himself to assess the situation. He'd been hit on the head. By whom? Or what? He had been lying face first on a cushion of damp moss and forest detritis and he had no idea how he had got there or for how long. Somehow he'd bitten the inside of his cheek and lip in the process. He'd been there long enough for his clothes to absorb moisture and he shivered suddenly from the chill.

“Ádrýgan,” he instinctively whispered, keeping his gaze downcast as the flare of magic briefly lit his eyes gold. His clothes instantly dried out. He swiped away the remaining dirt from off his face, sitting back on his haunches, gingerly feeling around the crusted scab at the back of his head. Something, someone, had hit him hard enough to knock him out but not enough to bleed all over himself. That at least was a good thing. And asides from the dull pounding in his skull, he wasn't otherwise injured. Still he frowned, as he looked up and paused.

He had no idea where he was at. 

A fine damp mist had settled all around and he stared out into a forest shrouded thickly in a cold fog. Naturally vibrant colours of greens, grey, browns, even black, were softened, watered down, diffused. Eerily still, he couldn't hear a thing, save the gentle dripping of moisture. Only within a few feet of him could he clearly make out the trunks of the trees and the lower canopy of branches before they faded into the fog. He struggled to his feet, tottering briefly and his hand reached out to steady himself, his fingers feeling the hard, knobby, grooved, bark of a pine.

Upright now, he looked around, realizing that he stood on an incline, the ground sloping away to his left. He let the damp, refreshing aroma of the pine trees, the peaty, earthy compost of the forest floor, and something else, something familiar, wash over his senses, reviving him. 

Water, that slightly fish-like, boggy, yet clean, smell of water reached his nostrils. Merlin looked down the slope, frowning, trying to make out more than the sounds of the dripping from the drenching mist that accumulated on everything about him. No bird sounds, nothing. Just the irregular, calming drips of water from a fog enshrouded forest.

Instinctively, Merlin moved down hill, towards the source of water, knowing he had to be near a lake, he could hear no water trickling or coursing from a creek. The sound of his footfalls, stepping on -and snapping- twigs and sticks, sounded unnaturally loud as he made his way through the trees. Still struggling to figure out what had happened to him, or where he was for that matter, he also couldn't help but marvel at how thick the fog was. It made everything unnaturally still. Visibility was reduced -literally- to only a few feet ahead of him. It didn't seem right, but he knew to the core of his being that it was real, natural. Just extraordinarily thick. 

A gentle lapping of water on rocks warned him of what had to be the lake and he was upon it so abruptly that he lurched to a stop, grabbing at another tree to keep himself from falling onto the rocks and into the lake, just a few feet below him. Inky, jet black water, so still he could clearly see his disheveled reflection looking back at him, barely moved in the fog. He strained to see anything about him, having no idea how big or wide the lake was. Sighing, his breath coming out in a puff of air, Merlin looked back up the slope he had come down and stopped.

Sound. Faint at first, but then distinct, came the muted honking of geese to his ears. His head swiveled up, searching the grey shroud, trying to fix on their position as they drew closer, close enough to hear the rustling of their feathers and the flapping as they flew. 

Like wispy grey ghosts, the skein briefly appeared above him in the mist, indistinct and seemingly disorientated by the enveloped world around them. Yet they vanished back into the gloom, their musical call floating back towards him until there came only the sound of the lake patting at the rocks, and the constant, endless, dripping of water.

Their calls slowly receding, Merlin stepped down onto the rocks of the tiny beach, feeling a shiver run through him. The hairs on the back of his neck began to rise and he looked about him in alarm, wondering where the source came from. He focused briefly on the dark water, detecting something amiss and he was about to kneel down, when he sensed the need to turn and look back up the slope.

The abnormal hush of the day, the lack of birds song, the thickness of the fog all lent to running an icy finger down his spine as he stared up the hill. From out of the mists a large figure moved and Merlin froze.

An enormous stag, silently passing through the thick stand of the trees above Merlin, slowly emerged before becoming fully exposed in a tiny clearing. He heard the creatures even breathing, evidenced by the puffs of breath from the stag's quivering nostrils. Steam rose from the damp hide, a muted dark grey and brown with a distinctive rusty red tinge to the fur. The creatures neck was thick and feathered with a mane of damp hair and the impressive rack of antlers would have made any trophy hunter salivate at the sight.

Merlin could only stare at it in awe. Surely he wasn't that far north to encounter one of these creatures.

The stag looked his way, not seeing him, displaying its full rack, before turning to look away to its right, lifting his head then gingerly begin picking its way through the trees and vanishing into the fog.

Stunned at the sight, Merlin slowly knelt at the lake's edge, still staring up at the now empty clearing where the beast had just been. He stretched his hand out towards the water and noticed that the icy, prickling feeling of the hairs on the back of his neck was still there and getting worse. Frowning disconcertingly, his hand was about to touch the water when memory returned and a spurt of energy coursed through his veins.

He hadn't been alone.

Where the hell was Arthur?

As realization reached his brain, his hand came in contact with the freezing, pitch black waters of the lake.

The jolt that hit every sense of his being caused him to shoot upright and stumble back up the slippery, damp, moss covered, rocks as he looked at the lake in horror. A jumbled, confusing vision had flashed like lightning before his eyes and he stopped only when he slammed up against the crumbling embankment of the hill behind him. He stared at the water, panting in abrupt fright, forgetting for an instant his alarm at where the Prince of Camelot had disappeared to.

Forget Arthur, his confused brain screamed at him.

**_What the hell was in the lake!?_ **


	2. From the Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Local folklore says every lake has one...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Response to the 2015 Weekly Writer's Challenge #43: Creatures of the Night  
> Ties in to Challenge #6: Sensory Perception... "Alone"

**_What the hell was in the lake?_ **

****

## 

From the Water

****

 

Lost, cold, and for what it was worth, wounded, Merlin decided he'd had enough and stopped for the night.

Knowing full well he was 'cheating' he'd decided that hunting for dry wood and lighting a fire by manual methods was out of the question. Mainly because he'd no flint for striking a fire and dry wood was scarce. The fog had barely lifted, rising only just high enough to show him, throughout that long day, that the lake was rather narrow, as far as lakes go, and that it seemed infinitely long. 

It was also incredibly deep, too dark for his liking and there was something in it. Whatever it was struck a healthy dose of fear into him. 

Staying near the troubling lake made sense. Trying to find its outlet was a must. All that day, he'd scrambling over the rough terrain, gaining numerous scraps, scratches and gouges from rock, root and tree. He had to forge a trail of his own, when it became impossible to follow the game trails. Then there was the matter of crossing the lakes numerous water inlets. A myriad of creeks, and at least two rivers, streamed down from the surrounding steep, forested, slopes and not a one he'd encountered drained water from the lake. If he could find the river that lead out, he could probably find people and where there were people, he could possibly find out what had become of Arthur.

The rivers had necessitated several detours to find safe places to cross and only contributed to the exhaustion he felt when he finally found suitable shelter for the night. 

Near a brook, he'd found a cluster of moss covered rocks which he was able to use to build a small shelter. With two spells, one to dry out and one to light the fire, he sat down with a sigh. His shoulders drooped, and he let his head hang while he ran the fingers of one hand into his hair, gingerly feeling the crusty cut where he had been struck in the head. The dull ache from the trauma had never left him the entire day.

As darkness fell, so did the fog, once again creeping with a chill clamminess back over the land and lake. Mists rose wraith-like, undulating from the lake to thicken the fog and shrouded everything turning the trees and stones into sinister, dark, ever vigilant, sentinels. The forest noises dimmed to silence. Merlin, hearing the muted rustle of feathers, glanced up and warily eyed a large raven that had landed in the boughs above his shelter. It cocked its head, its scythe-like bill clicking once. The large black, beady eyes glinted in the light of the fire as it warily eyed him back. 

After a moments investigating, the raven launched out of the tree, wings spread, and silently soared off into the gloom, disappearing in the direction of the lake. Puzzled, Merlin stared thoughtfully where the bird had perched. With another sigh, he decided trying to find something to eat wasn't worth the effort and he laid down close to the fire. The fire's warmth and the exhaustion of the day quickly overtaking him. He was out in seconds.

It was a considerable time later, when he felt a chill and he reluctantly dragged himself to wakefulness. The weirdness that was a thick fog and mist had thinned overhead allowing the half moon to shine, causing wet surfaces and water drops to glimmer with mercurial light. Frowning in dismay, he realized the chill he'd felt wasn't from the coldness of the night. Something was raising the hairs on the back of his neck, a premonition. 

Fully awake, he didn't move a muscle. He scanned the darkness about him seeing nothing but his hearing picked up sound. Something from the direction of the lake.

Tentative at first, an odd splashing, not of water over rocks and logs. More like a creature, gingerly plodding through shallow water. Merlin wondered if the red stag he'd seen -what felt like ages ago- was returning for an encore when it occurred to him that whatever was taking the hesitant, splashing steps was far larger that a buck. It was also coming closer to him. 

Feeling like a cold bony finger was slowly scraping its way down his spine, Merlin clamped down hard on the sense of panic trying to twist his stomach into a knot. He forced himself to watch the inky gloom from the direction of the lake as something, quite large, began coalescing in the mist. 

A grotesquely misshapen form, never remaining still, splashed its way slowly towards him. The creature followed the bed of the creek, the spattering water mingled with the tumbling of rocks it displaced with each step. The distorted figure slowly took shape, solidifying as it approached. Merlin realized it was a horse.

From the gloom, the creature lowered its head, ears flicked attentively forward, stepping cautiously closer to the embers of Merlin's fires. Simply put, the horse was huge. Easily one of the biggest he'd seen and he knew how big the horses needed to be for the Knights of Camelot. Animals capable of carrying the weight of armor clad men, or pulling the plows for field work. A single kick from a horse this size would be fatal. The horse eventually came to a stop, its hooves still in the water of the brook, head down and eyeing him. Black as the surrounding darkness, the horses' mane and forelock dripped water, hanging limply, all askew across its face and neck. A long tail trailed into the brook. The thing that arrested Merlin's breathing was the creatures eyes. 

They were blue.

The horse snorted at the water, its light-coloured eyes silently watching the man before him. Slowly, Merlin began to sit up causing the horse to jerk its head up, flattening its ears, and backing up in alarm. 

“Whoa,” Merlin said instinctively, soothingly, while a macabre fascination crept into his bones. The eerie chill along in his spine raised goosebumps on his flesh. “I think I know what you are...” he breathed.

The horse stopped, dropped its head a little, and resumed its silently investigation of him. The creatures ears flicked back and forward, inquisitiveness and distrust being communicated in silence. A trick of the firelight caused the horses eyes to glow with a witch's light. Or was it actually a real witch light?

“I think I know where I am...” Merlin said to the animal, causing it to jerk its head upright and back away again while Merlin climbed to his feet. He never left his side of the fire, keeping it between himself and the large creature before him. “It's rumoured every body of water here has one.”

As if in reply the horse let out another snort, vigorously shaking its head and neck, shedding water off its coat and mane before resuming its investigation of Merlin.

A slight rueful chuckle escaped Merlin's lip's, causing the horse to flick its ears forward in attention. “There is no way I am getting on your back.”

The big animal moved forward, its dripping hooves plashing in the water. Merlin stood his ground. “I also now when I am in the presence of magic.” He said to it. “And besides that, you won't leave the water...”

The horse vigorously shook its head and neck again, the snort coming form it sounding more like an angry bellows. It swung its hindquarters around, standing sideways to Merlin, as if inviting him to climb on iboard.

Merlin shook his head. “There is no possible inducement you can make to get me on your back. There is no way,” Merlin lifted his arm, pointing towards the lake, “I am going into those waters.” 

The horse began pawing at the shallow brook, kicking up stones and pebbles, sending water and mud spraying as it swung to and fro, trying to get Merlin to come closer, to climb on, to go.... there was only one place the creature would go.

Back into the lake. 

Merlin wasn't having it. 

“I don't know what's in there but you are part and parcel with it. And it's something I don't want to meet.” 

Agitated now, the horse continued its peculiar enticement to get the puny little human to climb on its back. It's prancing, and half-hearted rearing, caused the ground around them to shudder from the creatures huge size. Merlin just shook his head.

That seemed to make the creature even angrier, it bared its teeth, swinging around to face him. Then it began to rear, rising high above Merlin gathering its hindquarters under itself. The enormous apparition lunged its way forward, a very real solid, angry animal preparing to pound the human before it into the ground.

Merlin never moved.. His eyes suddenly lit with gold and the flames of his fire abruptly erupted skywards from the ground in a sheet of flames. An angry shrieking scream shook the very air around him as the horse met the flames. 

In a flash the fire went out plunging Merlin back into a shrouded fog bound darkness. Whilst out in the lake an angry neighing and splashing of water could be heard as the creature returned from where it had come from.

Merlin shivered, then slumped forwards, hanging his throbbing head, his hands on his knees. He listened as the horse plunged deeper into the waters before silence fell all about him. 

He knew now just what the creature was...


End file.
